


Between Us

by ashisfriendly



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, F/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Oral Sex, Pining, Quarantine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:07:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23308078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisfriendly/pseuds/ashisfriendly
Summary: Jerry brings back a virus from a vacation which leads everyone working for the Parks Department and other areas of city hall to quarantine at the Pawnee Super Suites. Leslie discovers the walls are paper thin and that Ben Wyatt is her neighbor. || Canon Divergence sometime after Andy and April's wedding and Road Trip, in the time of now... confusing? Maybe! Enjoy the pining and smut.
Relationships: Leslie Knope/Ben Wyatt
Comments: 29
Kudos: 133





	Between Us

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! We're all being safe and staying home as much as possible during this overwhelming time, but chatter on twitter was asking who was going to write quarantine fic. So I did. But! I wanted to give a little warning that it does talk about the stress of the virus and quarantine etc, so if you wanna escape all that, please read something else! If you want pining and smut, stick around! Also, why wouldn't they just shelter in place at their own homes? Great question, they probably would, but would we get the pining and smut?! Of course not! Anyway, stay safe, love you.

It’s not so bad at first.

At first it’s just a sinking feeling, a restless disappointment tingling against her skin through her muscles and into her stomach. It’s mild, nothing she hasn’t dealt with before at 1AM in her bedroom when she knows she has to be up in the morning but can’t lay still. She’s felt that way ever since she can remember, giving speeches to her stuffed animals at the foot of her bed or reading under her covers long after lights out. 

But here, that feeling strengthens, extends to her legs, makes her need to pace as she reads her third book. She also has the TV on because it makes it feel louder and busier. Every time she finishes another book or writes another idea or a movie ends, she checks the time. The sinking feeling intensifies.

To her credit, Leslie does try to sleep. She turns off the light, turns down the bed in an elaborate simulation of someone who actually enjoys getting into bed. She takes a deep breath, listens to a meditation that Ann gave her to listen to and stares at the ceiling, tapping her fingers along the scratchy comforter. 

As if it’s any surprise, this is all Jerry’s fault.

Jerry came back from his vacation and a week later he tested positive for it. By then, everyone needed to be tested or quarantined. In the end, the government thought it best to get everyone who interacted with Jerry since he returned, put up at the Pawnee Super Suites for two weeks. 

Now that she’s made her room quiet, she hears everything on the other side of the wall. Mostly the TV, loud and stark compared to her room that’s finally quieted. She spends a few minutes trying to figure out what’s on the TV, but it’s nothing she recognizes. There’s explosions and guns. After she tosses and turns a few times, she gives the wall a polite knock.

Nothing changes so she tries again, harder this time.

That works. The TV mutes and there’s a knock back.

“Sorry,” Leslie yells, wincing. A sudden guilt goes through her. Everyone is stuck here and miserable and doing their best. “TV’s loud, but sorry, I--”

“Leslie?”

Leslie sits up, her heart skipping.

“Ben?”

//

Two days pass, but it feels like only an hour. She has her laptop and there is remote work to be done, but it’s easy to breeze right through without a million fires to put out throughout her day. It’s just her, a few clarifying emails and phone calls, and her work. She’s done with everything by lunch time and no one’s even bothered her. She asks to assist with the helpline, but even those calls are relatively easy since all she can do is point people to other people to call. 

She reads between phone calls, keeps the TV on low just to hear other voices. She’s watched a few YouTube videos on how to needlepoint, but it’s not as fun as she hoped. She dumps puzzle pieces onto the table and separates them. She’ll jump from her puzzle, to the needlepoint, to watching a commercial, and back again. She answers the phone when it rings, checks the news. It almost feels as chaotic as work, but it’s scattered and listless, and she’s so, so restless.

“No, I’m feeling fine, mom.”

Leslie’s fingers slow as she sorts through her puzzle pieces, trying to find the paw of one of the orange kittens. She’s been hearing Ben through the wall, hyper aware of every sound coming from the other side since they discovered they were neighbors. Not much has come of it, he apologized that first night and they said goodnight and that was it. But she can hear his alarm in the morning when she’s drinking her second cup of coffee, hears him drop something and curse, can hear C-SPAN throughout the day and MSNBC at night, with movies she doesn’t recognize in between. There’s a scattering of humming and singing songs and the occasional phone call. He must hear her, too. She hasn’t been singing softer in the shower or stopped talking to herself as she works. Her cheeks heat at the thought of him hearing her, but she can’t stop, she’s hardly surviving this quarantine as it is.

“I hardly think I have it, but better safe than sorry.”

There’s a long pause, peppered with a few “uh huh”s and “mm”s. There’s a few low questions about an Uncle Charlie that sounds concerning and it makes a flare of guilt warm in her chest. She shouldn’t be listening.

Not having a lot of family feels peaceful in a time like this. She’s in her micro-bubble, where her friends are safe at the hotel, just a text away, and her mom is home, having toilet paper delivered. They text and talk every day, mostly a lot of exclamation points about how the federal government is handling things. She’s grateful her community is doing everything they can.

That night, Leslie turns on MSNBC like her neighbor, but keeps the volume low, hardly needing it from the sound coming through the wall. She ordered too much food and two milkshakes just as a distraction.

“This is fucking nuts, huh?”

His voice is clear and near her head through the wall, almost vibrating along her spine. There’s no headboards in the rooms, so her back is flat against the wall and she wonders if he’s mirroring her on the other side. 

“Yeah,” Leslie says, her eyes focused on the TV screen. They’re talking to a Harvard medical student who has been administering tests and what that’s been like. Horrific, from the sounds of it. “Yeah.”

What else is there to say?

“How are you feeling?” Ben asks. 

Like she’s about to jump out of her skin. Like she wants to march into the White House and take over, something like Marshall Law but just her. Leslie Law? She’ll work on it. She feels like she’s on fire and as if her thoughts are too fast and the hours are too slow. She feels lonely and sluggish with electricity in her bones. Her back aches from this terrible mattress and her eyes hurt from the low lighting and she misses sunshine. 

But of course he means does she have a temperature, is she coughing, can she breathe? He’d hear her coughs, she’s sure, but it’s just what you ask each other either through text or DM or over the phone nowadays, when the virus has come around. 

And when you’re being monitored? It’s all anyone wants to know.

“Fine,” she says. “You?”

“Just great.” The sarcasm is thick in his voice and she laughs a little, missing even his smug, cranky face and annoyed tones. 

There’s a long enough pause that Leslie focuses back on the show. Rachel Maddow is going to have Joe Biden on soon. 

“This must be killing you,” Ben says, and his voice startles her. 

“We’ll be out of here soon, and it’s for the best that we stay here, of course.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She can hear him move against the wall. “You don’t have to give the pep talk or CDC spiel to me.”

“Did you wash your hands for twenty seconds, Benjamin?”

“I did, Lesliemin.”

There’s a laugh in his voice and Leslie lets it lift her spirits a little.

“With soap?”

“With soap,” he answers. 

Another long pause. Another commercial break. The silence stretches on throughout Joe Biden’s interview and Leslie almost feels like she’s watching it with Ben. Like they could be sitting on the bed together. Or a couch. Or two separate chairs.

Not alone.

//

On day four, Chris emails everyone to take the day off, that they’ve “earned it” and should “rest.” Leslie’s entire body revs up at the notion so she gets back to work on her puzzle while The Price is Right plays in the background. She’s getting good at needlepoint. She’s been browsing Tik Tok ever since Tom sent out another link in the group text. She’s sure more time is passing, but the sun doesn’t seem to move and the clock feels stuck. She takes two showers.

“Uncle Ben! Uncle Ben!”

Leslie blinks, her head snapping up from her kitten puzzle. It’s taking forever to complete, just like the hours in a day. She vaguely remembers Ben talking about having siblings, but she couldn’t recall anything about nieces or nephews. She doesn’t mean to snoop, and she really could just turn up the TV, but the little voices are welcome, like walking through the rec center in the summer. 

The small voices are static and tin-y, sometimes with skips in their excited shouts and rambling screams. Sometimes there’s a pause because someone went to go get something to show him and an older voice butts in to ask him about quarantine and how he’s feeling. Ben’s sister -- Steph as he calls her -- complains about the kids being home so much and thankful the weather has been nice enough for them to run around outside when they aren’t doing school work. 

The screaming voices are back and there's some fighting over the phone, but Ben is oddly good at navigating it and asking questions to keep them focused and from fighting. Leslie wonders if he heard her conversation with her mom last night. She wasn’t loud, definitely not as loud as those kids, but maybe he did. She tries to remember what they talked about, but she doesn’t recall anything specific or embarrassing, so it’s probably fine. 

When he’s done, it feels empty in the room again. Leslie gives up on her puzzle and answers Ann’s check in texts after taking her temperature. Poor Ann. She’s been going nonstop.

Ann responds with a thumbs up and reminds her of the meditations on her phone and Leslie listens to one. 

Then she’s waking up and the TV is on, now with late night news. The sun is gone. Her mind is calm and foggy for the first time since she’s been in this room. She blinks and stretches, feeling the scratchy comforter along her feet. She groans and rolls onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow. It’s starting to smell like her shampoo now instead of like stale air. She grabs her phone and checks the time with one eye open. 

11:24PM.

She goes to the bathroom, grabs the food from outside her door, and plops back onto the bed and starts eating. She scrolls through the news on her phone while MSNBC plays on the TV. She texts Ann to make sure she’s okay and getting some sleep and sends along the soap emoji which has become her favorite thing to do ever since the virus first sparked a national conversation. 

She misses April making hand washing posters and then going back to edit them. She misses Tom’s expansive and varied selection of hand sanitizers on his desk. She misses being in her office. She even misses hearing Ben tell her no.

She starts down a familiar spiral. One she started having on and off as soon it was clear that they were going to have to start dealing with the virus in Pawnee. What was going to happen to her city, her department, her friends? She just got it all back, sure, not perfect, but it was back and they were making it work. She felt at home again, almost. And now what?

“President Pelosi wouldn’t be so bad, huh?”

Leslie blinks and her mind clears a little. She grabs a chicken tender from her plate and smiles before she takes a bite. 

“Would be nice,” she replies, leaning her head back on the wall.

She slowly eats, listening to her TV and Ben’s muffled one through the wall. Clips from an address on an introduction of a House Bill plays and Leslie likes the idea more and more. Not that she hasn’t thought of it before, but like those times in the past, it’s nice to get lost in it a little.

“Or you,” Ben says through the wall, a hint of something in his voice. Not teasing, something more endearing.

Her cheeks warm, but she does raise her chin a little. 

“I wish.”

“Me, too.” There’s a soft thud behind her and Leslie thinks he’s let his head fall back on the wall. “You make campaign speeches in your sleep, you know.”

Leslie springs up, eyes wide. The blush from his compliment immediately shifts into a flush along her entire chest and her stomach flips a few times. 

“Oh my God.”

He laughs. “No, no, it’s good. They’re good, I mean. The speeches.”

“What was I running for?”

She can’t recall dreaming about running for office but she wouldn’t be surprised if she had.

“Not quite clear, actually. I guess that’s something to work on. There was talk about being pro-dogs.”

“Well, obviously.”

He laughs again and Leslie tries to relax even if she is completely mortified. 

“Did I keep you up?” Leslie asks.

“No, I was awake. Not sleeping well, actually.”

“A pandemic keeping you up?”

Another chuckle. It feels good through the wall, like she can feel the vibration in his chest, the bounce in his shoulders. 

“I just took a nap,” Leslie shares, crossing her legs and pushing a pillow between her lower back and the wall. 

“I thought you didn’t sleep.”

“Well, it is a waste of time, but sometimes I do it.”

Silence stretches between them, but it’s comfortable. Leslie wonders what he’s wearing, how he’s sitting, if his room looks exactly like hers, if his sheets have started smelling like his soap. It’s a nice fresh, boy soap smell, like a more pungent Irish Spring, if she remembers correctly. He also smells like coffee a lot, or cinnamon gum.

She must be lonely if she’s taking inventory of Ben Wyatt smells. He’s not even exactly her friend -- maybe he is. He’s like her temporary boss who is mostly an asshole but sometimes looks at her too long and smiles after he says something that will piss her off. 

The President flashes on the screen from a press release. Leslie groans.

“He’s like… I… he’s Darth Vader or something.”

“Okay, well, I’m going to have to disagree, Darth Vader isn’t so much the--”

“Okay, okay, I haven’t seen Star Wars, so--”

“What?” Ben yells. Perhaps it’s the loudest he’s ever been. 

Leslie rolls her eyes. 

“This is the perfect time for you to watch them.” Ben sounds pragmatic and a little frenzied. “Do you want to log in to my Disney+ account?”

“I don’t think I would like it.”

“No, no. You’d like it.”

Leslie highly doubts it. She sighs, sliding her legs under the covers, leaning against the wall, wrapping her arms around her extra pillow.

“Just, like, tell it to me.”

“I won’t do it justice.”

Leslie can’t roll her eyes hard enough.

“Just tell me.”

There’s a rustling on Ben’s side of the wall and his voice sounds different, a little clearer and louder. She thinks he’s facing the wall now. When he gets like this about numbers, he’s raked his hand through his hair and it looks like a crazy nest on his head. She imagines that now, except maybe with pajama pants and a t-shirt instead of his usual work clothes. 

He clears his throat.

“A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…”

//

On Monday, the department does their first video call because Leslie doesn’t let up about it.

It’s a total mess. No one knows how to mute their microphones, Tom is clearly on Tinder the entire time, April and Andy wear hats made from what Leslie can only assume are pages from their room’s Bible. Donna and Ron let everyone just talk and mess up the entire time while Leslie tries to get anything resembling a meeting done. There’s not much to meet about, just covering how they can help from their rooms and reminders to check the Slack channel. Leslie knows it’s not very successful, but she loved every minute of it.

She feels better. Her lungs are cleaner and her body moves easier. She moves the tiny table and chairs to the window and does the rest of her work there, pausing every now and then to look for a puzzle piece or have a sip of water. She’s been recharged and she even has moments of inspiration, writing down some ideas in her journal for parks events, summer celebrations, and how to prepare for the next crisis if anything like this happens again.

Leslie finishes work early, talks to her mom, and takes another shower because apparently showering is a good way to pass the time in a pandemic. She grabs her dinner outside her door and settles into bed, flipping to MSNBC.

“Do you have alcohol?” Leslie asks in a way of a greeting.

There’s some movement on Ben’s side and a sigh of relief. She feels it, too. It’s only been a couple days of this, the reset -- back to back, a wall between them and the weight of everything being lifted just enough to calm a bit of her nerves.

“Yes. I figured out how to request a beer.”

Leslie pouts even though he can’t see it. “I’d kill for a beer. Or wine. Or a cart of cookies. How’d you do that?”

Ben’s voice is muffled, like he’s eating something. “I left a note when I put my dishes out and it happened.”

“Do you think I’ll get a cart of cookies?” Leslie asks. 

“You won’t know until you ask. I would say, however, that my request was pretty reasonable.”

Leslie scoffs. “So is mine.”

There’s a grin and a tease in his voice as he says, “Only to you.”

Something about what he says, maybe his voice or the confidence of knowing her, sends something warm into her chest and causes a blush along her collarbone. She leans away from the wall as if it’ll help cool her down, slow her pulse, or clear her mind. 

It doesn’t help. Ben has made her heart jump a little before, like when he compliments her in a backhanded way, like calling her a pain in the ass or teasing her for calling him ten times in the span of an hour. Even when he bought out Freddy Spaghetti, something sparked along her skin. 

Ben is always around, to tell her she can’t do this or that, to shut down her entire government and still be there when she returns. The last time she was sick, he was also there, supporting her and bringing her soup and waffles, smiling in doorways and putting his hands on her. Checking her temperature and keeping her upright are only soft memories in her mind, but the thought of his hands has lingered, whether she wants to admit it or not.

To be clear, she does not want to admit it. Actually, she has nothing to admit. She’s just lonely. She’s been lonely, romantically, or intimately, whatever you want to call it, for awhile. And now? She’s locked in a room and hasn’t seen a person in the flesh, let alone hug someone, in days. She gets phone calls and FaceTimes and check-ins and now the routine meetings on opposite sides of a wall. 

Ben taps the wall and Leslie blinks. 

“Are you still awake?” Ben asks, voice soft but clear.

Leslie nods even though he can’t see her. “Yeah.”

“Oh, good,” Ben says and another wave of warmth goes through her and she wants to snap out of whatever this is. 

A comfortable quiet settles again and they exchange commentary on the news and Ben laments about how he wishes he could just go do something he wants to do for once. There’s another pause before he clears his throat and she hears his head fall back on the wall.

“This is probably a dumb question, but is there anything you wish you were doing other than being the Deputy Director of the Parks and Recreation Department of Pawnee, Indiana?”

Leslie bites the inside of her cheek and smiles, playing with a loose thread on her Garfield t-shirt.

“Um,” Leslie says, thinking. “My mom was a teacher when I was growing up, became principal when I was in high school. So teaching was always on the back of my mind.” Leslie turns around, crossing her legs and facing the wall. A horrible painting of a lighthouse is hanging up high and crooked in front of her. “I loved being a TA in college. I would think about staying and getting my credential and loved thinking about lesson planning and how I would decorate my classroom.” She sighs, a little dreamy and surprising. “I could dress up like George Washington.”

Ben laughs. “Not Abigail Adams?”

“I’ll do them all.”

“I’m sure you would.”

Leslie pats her cheeks even though she’s not supposed to be touching her face. She clears her throat. “What about you? Or did you always want to be a numbers robot who crushes people’s dreams?”

“Hey!” His voice has changed, like he’s also turned around. “Well, I always thought I’d play pro ball.” Leslie immediately thinks of basketball and her eyebrows furrow. “Baseball.”

Leslie tries to imagine it, Ben’s face on some big jumbotron or something, wearing his uniform. She had a crush on a guy on the baseball team in high school, she always loved his uniform and imagined wearing his hat to class. Brandon never cared about her or probably even knew she existed, but she liked to daydream about it anyway. 

Now she imagines Ben, and his ass in those tight pants. 

“But,” Ben says, snapping her back to quarantine. “More realistically, before Ice Town, I wanted to work for NASA.”

Leslie gasps. “Like an astronaut?”

“Yes,” he says, a smile in his voice, “like an astronaut.”

“A real life Flyboy.”

“Hey, you remember!”

Leslie smiles, looking down at her hands that have started to wring a little. She does remember the impressive amount of dialogue from the entire Star Wars trilogy he shared with her. 

“Well, anyway, yes. I was also good at numbers so I thought I could do it. But, you know.”

“Ice Town,” Leslie says.

“Ice Town. Had to prove myself after that and fell in love with government on the way. Maybe I can still run for office someday.”

“You can,” Leslie says quickly. “You will, I mean.”

“Thanks, maybe.”

“There’s got to be an open seat around here somewhere.” Leslie immediately grabs her laptop and opens it, trying to figure out what to type into Alta Vista. “Like an assemblyman!”

“Leslie--”

“You could be the new AOC!”

“Well--”

“A man of course.”

“Thank you, Leslie, but you don’t need to look up all these great openings for me. You should run for them, not me.”

Goosebumps raise along her arms and on the back of her neck. Leslie shivers, but raises her chin a little, pride sparking beneath her chest. She wishes she could see him but is glad he can’t see her at the same time. She’s aflame. 

“Look,” Ben says, as if she can, in fact, look, “there’s an assembly seat opening next year. You could start preparing now.”

“No, I--”

“You’ve already got a speech written. It’s pretty good, just needs tightening. Maybe no talk of chocolate sauce fountains.”

Leslie’s fingertips press against her cheeks, warming.

“Ben--”

“We should find out when you have to file.”

He’s talking to himself now, his voice lower and faster, like how hers sounds when she’s in the middle of a great planner session.

“It’s three months prior,” she answers. She knows these things, of course.

She really wants to see him now. She knows how he looks when he’s concentrating, eyebrows furrowed a little, but not as much as when he’s exasperated by her. His jaw tightens when he’s pushing the buttons on his calculator, but this time he must be typing furious, tapping the trackpad with his fingers. Is he smiling, is he determined, is he focused? Why aren’t these walls actually floor to ceiling windows? Sure it wouldn’t work for a motel, but it would work nicely for her right now.

“Perfect,” he says. “We can work with that.”

Leslie gasps a little, then quickly blinks so she can focus.

“What are you, my campaign manager now?”

“You can’t afford me.”

Leslie laughs, the tension shaking out of her shoulders, settling the nerves and excitement that was bubbling under skin.

He must be smiling, maybe smirking. Sometimes he just has a soft tilt to his lips that is the whisper of a smile but it somehow lights up his entire face. Maybe that. She can picture it, almost fully. She puts her hand in front of her on the mattress, as if he’s there. It feels absolutely ridiculous and quite comforting.

“Hope this shit blows over so we can gather signatures to get on the ballot,” he says it so softly, she’s not sure if she was supposed to hear it.

But she heard it, for the second time she heard it.

We.

//

For the first time, she sleeps in.

Sleeping in for her is 6AM, but she slept in just the same. 

It’s day eight. She’s made it a whole week. 

She stretches, creating a star on the mattress. Her neck is stiff from falling asleep against the wall and her hips hurt from this horrible mattress. It’s too soft and also has lumps all over it, the comforter is scratchy, and the pillows are flat. She’d request more, but she already feels like a burden on this place. Isn’t it enough that all her meals are dropped off and everyone’s wearing protective gear. She takes her temperature and texts it to Ann along with her usual “feeling fine” follow up. 

A minute later, Ann texts back a thumbs up emoji and the sleepy face emoji. Guess it’s time for her two hour nap, which is what Ann and most medical professionals are calling “sleep” these days. Leslie wishes she could help.

There’s a sound on the other side of the wall like someone throwing something. Nothing hard, maybe a pillow, landing with a soft thud. She waits, listening to make sure Ben is okay. Did he get a bad temperature reading and he’s upset? Is he also sore from these terrible beds?

There’s an annoyed groan and then she hears Ben say, “Shit.”

Leslie sits up, curiosity spiking, her heart racing a little. Maybe he does have a fever, maybe he woke up achy. She was really hoping everyone would make it out of here with no symptoms, but maybe that was too optimistic. Jerry shares offices with them, uses their copiers, opens the same doors, breathes the same air. Of course someone would get it.

In the middle of her spiral, she hears a soft moan from Ben’s room.

Leslie stops breathing. Listens.

He isn’t… could he… 

She should take a shower. Or maybe turn on music, or the TV. She lunges for the remote at the foot of the bed.

Another moan, a little louder this time, but stifled. Maybe he’s biting his bottom lip to keep the noise down. 

Leslie shakes her head and raises the remote to the TV and presses the power button. It doesn’t turn on, but that’s nothing new, sometimes it takes a few tries to reach. The thing probably needs batteries, but again, she doesn’t feel like bothering anyone.

“Fuck.”

Okay.

She heard that. 

She knows that sound. She knows that strain, the familiar bite and relief that comes with that word. 

Leslie puts the remote down, deciding the TV isn’t going to turn on. She also decides to sit back down. It’s quiet now, except for soft breaths and sharp inhales that cause flames to erupt along her skin. It starts in her chest and expands outward, pooling beautifully in her stomach and along her hips. She swallows when he sighs again, a groan escaping the back of his throat that is so deep and long an earthquake starts along her spine. 

Her heart pounds. Her head is screaming for her to do something, to get up and turn the TV on or grab her headphones or take a shower or just walk to the other side of the room, but she’s stuck, clutching the rough fabric of the comforter in both of her hands. Her breathing speeds up as she fights with herself, the need to hear him, to think about him, winning by a mile.

Ben whimpers a little, followed by another soft groan, and it is the hottest thing she’s ever heard. It’s calm and vulnerable, and she thinks of him, laying in bed, his hair a mess from the night’s sleep. Did he sleep naked? Maybe. She looks down at the blankets clutched in her hands, her knuckles turning white. He has the same sheets, the same blankets, she thinks of his naked body under them, pushed down to his thighs now so he can grab his dick and release the tension built up over the last few days in isolation.

His breathing speeds up and she leans back until her back is against the wall. She can hear him so clearly now, each breath filling his lungs with sharp and fast inhales, releasing shaky exhales. They’re quick and beautiful. She presses her thighs together and closes her eyes, shamelessly thinking of him, his compact body flat against the mattress, dick in his moving hand. His hands are big, and she wonders how big his dick is, how his hand fits around it, how hers would fit. Her eyes snap open and a hint of shame crawls up her spine but it flickers away when he curses from deep within his throat, the word scratched and desperate on an exhale.

Ben’s body comes into her mind again, veins in his arms and jaw clenched. Her legs move, thighs desperately trying to relieve some tension. He groans behind her and she sighs, frustrated and guilty. She bites her mouth closed, completely aware of how thin these walls are more than ever. He’s breathing fast again and Leslie brings her hands together, clasping them in her lap as if it’ll help ward herself off from doing anything with them. She grips her fingers, thinking again about them around his cock, taking over for him, and how each breath she hears, every moan and curse would be for her. She tries to stop herself from imagining it, but it’s impossible with the constant sound coming from behind her. 

More questions flash in her mind as her hands run along her thighs. She’s fucking salivating and she can’t even blame the isolation, can’t blame the months of being single, can’t blame the rapid breathing on the other side of the wall, she can only blame him. For being gorgeous, for being a pain in her ass, for teasing her, for helping her, for smirking at her, for his chocolate brownie eyes, for the absolutely perfect way his moans sound through a wall and how she’d chase every one with her hands, her mouth, her entire body.

Everything speeds up, her visions of him becoming clearer, his breathing, and the onslaught of curses. There’s a tight groan and a pause followed by a ragged exhale. Her eyes open in surprise, her own hand on her stomach, obviously on its way somewhere lower. She imagines him finishing, cum splattered along his stomach as it expands and contracts with his rapid breathing. Her mouth waters and she leans her head back, closing her eyes again, exhausted, as if she was there with him.

She hears him sigh and the bead creaks and his bathroom door shuts.

Leslie sits in the silence, loneliness creeping in rapidly. She covers her face with her hands and groans into her palms. She feels bad, she feels horny, she feels like she hasn’t seen a real human face in so long that she’s going to jump out of her skin. 

When Ben’s bathroom door opens she leaps from the bed as if it’s burned her and runs to the bathroom. 

A shower. She needs a shower. 

//

The days are long, but today’s the longest and hardest.

She woke up this morning and talked to the district to see how they were doing with meals for kids, and was happy to hear things were going well. Kids were being fed, even kids that weren’t in the program yet. She wishes she could help hand out food and box meals, but Lana at the district said she was welcome when her quarantine was over. 

Then she called Marley and Chuck who own the laundromat near Ramsett Park to see if they would open for four hours twice a week for families in need to do laundry. Leslie offered to help finance and to raise money for those who needed it. That also was a done deal.

After lunch she felt better, more informed and feeling like Pawnee was doing their best. Eagleton was even helping out. Her mom told her that online classes were bumpy but at least existent and would start to be better soon, she hoped. 

Then Ann called.

Ann is okay, Ann doesn’t have a fever, but Ann is in the midst of hell and Leslie is stuck here. Leslie has been restless since she stepped foot into this hotel room, but phone calls and emails helped her feel useful. She knows everyone -- if someone had a problem, Leslie usually knew a person she could call. If that person couldn’t help, she knew another. She could get updates about programs, talk to the outreach coordinator at the local Food Bank, her mom about schools, a myriad of citizens for updates about the community.

It just was hard to sit there, miles away from the hospital, stuck and listening to Ann cry. Ann finally got to go home for a few days and rest, but alone in her house, she felt all of it crash on top of her.

“It’s so easy to forget when there’s no time to stop,” Ann told Leslie.

Ann is alone in her house and almost everyone she knows, besides busy coworkers, is either locked up or all the way in Michigan. Leslie just listens, but it’s heartbreaking. She cries with Ann and tells her how great of a nurse she is, how she’s a real superhero, that Wonder Woman could never compare. It never feels like enough.

When she hangs up she marches around her room and tries to calm down. She drinks water and does one minute of a meditation before ripping her headphones out of her ears and throwing her phone across the bed. 

Leslie wants to find the silver lining, but it feels so far away, completely unattainable. She’s not usually so bleak, but she’s been fighting to find the light since she’s been in here. Now she’s falling, deeper and deeper into something dark and cold and unforgiving. 

She should go to the window and look at the clouds or take a shower, but she does neither. For who knows how long she just curls into herself on the bed, both numb and sad, somehow all at once. 

The bed buzzes and Leslie opens her eyes, her heart jumping in her throat. Her phone lights up across the mattress and Leslie dodges for it, wondering if Ann is okay. She accepts the call quickly and presses her phone to her ear.

“Ann?”

“Uh, no.”

Leslie’s brow furrows and she pulls the phone away to look at the name, even though she knows that voice. When she looks down at the screen, she sees his face, shy and very cute, and his hand comes up, waving. 

A FaceTime call? Now? Aren’t you supposed to send a courtesy text to make sure you’re available? Leslie wants to duck out of frame but that’d probably seem rude. But she’s very aware she’s been crying and has no makeup on and maybe looks like a pile of garbage.

“Hi,” Leslie says, waving back.

“Hi,” Ben says, unsure. “I hope it’s okay that I called.”

Leslie nods, sniffing and running a hand through her hair. “Yeah,” she says, repeating the word too many times while she tries to do something with her hair.

Ben nods and he moves his phone around, the scratchy sounds of the microphone against fabric and fingers mixing with her heartbeat in her ears. When he stops moving the phone, he leans back and she can see him from the waist up. He’s wearing a Letters to Cleo t-shirt which for him seems alarmingly casual and maybe even intimate. Her cheeks warm as she notices something else: he’s grown a beard, or the start of one, short and light and handsome.

Leslie blinks, sniffing again, and considers trying to find a place to put her phone.

“Sorry, I look like… well.” Leslie laughs and tries to arrange her hair in some way again. “You didn’t have to FaceTime,” she teases.

“I know,” Ben says and sighs heavily. “I wanted to see you. I mean call you. I haven’t seen you in almost two weeks, which feels... weird. Right?”

Leslie nods, her stomach flipping. 

“I almost hung up, but you answered.” Ben rolls his shoulders and they relax. “Thank you for answering.”

Leslie smiles, dropping her chin a little to hide it unsuccessfully. 

“You’re welcome.”

There’s a silence that isn’t easy, but not necessarily uncomfortable. Leslie feels like she needs to put her hand somewhere or do something entertaining for some reason. Ben runs a hand through his hair and it sticks up all over his head.

He clears his throat. “Would you like a tour of my room?” 

Leslie chuckles. “I’d love a tour.”

He shows her his room, apologizing for messes as he goes. He has a small, tidy workstation and next to it is a bunch of colorful cardboard pieces and… action figures? He quickly moves the camera away from it and she decides to let it go. His room looks exactly like hers except the bad art is different, rolling hills instead of lighthouses, sheep instead of sailboats. She shows him her room, and he points out the mess of her work area.

“I have a system, Benjamin.”

She shows him the weird faucet on her bathroom sink and how there’s a hole in the wall behind her door. That prompts him to remember the stain on the carpet that he hopes isn’t blood and she tells him about a time she stayed at a hotel with her mom when she made her look at a college in Florida, just in case she felt like branching out.

“Why Florida?” Ben asks her.

“My dad’s from there, my grandpa was a professor at the University of Florida, yadda yadda. I wasn’t going to leave Indiana.”

“Did you apply?”

Leslie nods. “I got in.”

“Of course you did.”

This makes Leslie blush but she quickly goes on to tell him about the strange owner of the hotel and how they would call her room to ask if they needed things every hour. Ben tells her about all the different hotels he’s lived in, divulges all of Chris’ weird health habits, and gives her a live demonstration of how to pack efficiently. Leslie snacks on gummy worms and handfuls of Fruit Loops while he shows her fan art he’s attempted of Game of Thrones characters.

“I’m not artistic, but I am bored.”

Leslie laughs and sits back on the bed, nestling back into the wall of pillows she’s set up from her phone calls earlier. She sighs, holding the phone at a weird angle, her hand and arm tiring from holding it. She’s not even sure how long they’ve been talking. She opens her laptop and props the phone up against the screen. It’s maybe not her most flattering angle, and now Ben gets to see her oversized UI sweatshirt that definitely has a wine stain on it, but it gives her arm a rest. She nuzzles into the pillow and relaxes into the bed, sighing as their conversation dies down. The silence lingers as Ben does the same, finding a position for his phone and sits on his bed. Leslie can hear him move through the wall.

Ben closes his eyes, propping his head in his hand, elbow pushing into the mattress. When his eyes open, he looks unsure, concerned.

“I overheard your conversation with Ann,” he says. He winces. “I’m sorry, I know I should’ve turned on music or something, but I -- I don’t know. I’m sorry.” 

She’s surprised, but not angry. Her stomach turns in embarrassment rather than betrayal. She’s not sure what to make of his confession, and it makes her feel even more guilty for overhearing him the other morning. She’s not going to tell him what happened, and they are definitely not even, but she can’t find a reason to be unhappy with him over this, especially given how he looks so guilty and torn up over it.

“Oh, yeah, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Ben says, shaking his head. “But I… I wanted to call you and make sure you were okay. I know Ann means a lot to you.”

Leslie turns her face into a pillow, willing herself not to cry. She doesn’t want to cry, she feels a little cried out, and she especially doesn’t want to in front of Ben. He doesn’t say anything as she steadies herself, tries to swallow the lump forming even though it’s growing bigger by the second.

“Thanks,” Leslie whispers.

He smiles, sad and understanding, and adjusts, moving closer to the phone. Leslie mirrors him and they sit together for a while. Leslie wants to thank him again, but she’s still fighting the lump in her throat, so when he suggests they put on C-SPAN, she agrees and the silence is eaten by the soft chatter of the chambers.

//

It feels weird to anticipate her release from this. She’s hours away from leaving this hotel room and embracing the outside, but to what?

Everything is closed, citizens are supposed to stay at home, and since they’ve been doing government work remotely, they will probably continue, except for essential duties. JJ’s is closed except for take-out and all she wants to do is get waffles and sit in a sticky booth and hug JJ as she leaves and take a walk in Ramsett Park. She can see JJ, wave and thank him for her waffles and take them home. The walk is still on and she can’t wait. But, everything is different, so different than when she stepped into this hotel room two weeks ago.

After she takes the most nerve-racking temperature reading of her quarantine, Leslie showers. She takes her time to wash her hair and run soap along her skin. She plans her day.

She’s going to go home and flop on her bed just to feel it again. She’ll take inventory of her food and essentials and brave a run to the grocery store and to the pharmacy, depending. She wants to treat herself to ice cream or a cupcake, but it’s not essential and last she heard the bakeries and ice cream shops were closed. 

Then she’ll coordinate a time to see Ann, well not see Ann exactly. She wants to make some cookies and drop them off at her house and wave to her from a distance. Leslie’s life at the Pawnee Super Suites felt like an eternity, but Ann is in her own personal quarantine indefinitely and Leslie aches to hug her. Eventually.

As the week goes on, she’s going to help some small business owners file for loans and forgiveness and help the schools pass out meals. Somehow, during these two weeks, she’s gotten some of the richest citizens of Eagleton to help Pawnee, perhaps the biggest achievement in government in the entire world. 

Leslie gets dressed and packs her suitcase, cleaning up her mess of chip bags and candy. She created quite a mess in here, really. She makes her bed and sits on it, taking a glance at the wall. When Ben told her he was actually looking forward to getting back into his room at April and Andy’s, she laughed, but her heart ached a little. Not completely because she would miss him -- she would -- but he had people to be with while being stuck at home. She would just continue this isolating, lonely parade, but no one would be on the other side of the wall. 

At least she’d have grocery store cashiers and families picking up school lunches. 

She’s not really sure how being released is supposed to go, if someone is supposed to come and check on her or she just leaves on her own at checkout time. She stands with her arms crossed, watching the TV. Another press conference with no real answers. 

Leslie groans and turns off the TV, and starts to text April if we can make a survey for people to fill out to see what they want to know about the virus and see if there’s a way they can answer their questions. She starts an email to the director of public health when there’s a knock on her door.

She opens the door and the wind gets knocked out of her.

She blinks a few times. Swallows. Smiles.

“Hi,” Leslie says and Ben smiles in response. “Do we get to leave?”

He’s like a breath of fresh air, like the mist in a cold spring morning, light and dewy on her skin. His jaw is covered in a beard, not full quite yet but well on its way. He’s in a hoodie and jeans, but he doesn’t have his luggage.

“Yeah,” he says, “we get to leave.”

“Great!” she says.

He stands there and Leslie wonders if she’s supposed to get her stuff and they all leave at the same time. It doesn’t seem likely considering they don’t want people to stand around in groups, but she just wants to follow the rules so she can get home. To her new normal.

“Okay,” Leslie says.

“Okay,” Ben echoes.

Leslie’s heart races a little, in excitement or unease, she isn’t sure. She turns to grab her things, but something tightens on her arm and she spins back around.

Before she can crash into his chest, Ben’s hand slides to the back of her neck and pulls until his lips meet hers.

She’s frozen. Floating. Not breathing.

His lips are soft, his fingers hard against the skin on her neck. She rocks forward, their bodies touching, his chin dipping to adjust the space between. He lets go of her arm and sweeps his fingers into her hair, sighing along her lips before pulling back enough for their noses to brush. 

“Leslie--”

But before he can go on, she pushes up on her tiptoes and captures his lips again. He smiles and relaxes into her, mouths clumsy as she backs up, pulling the fabric of his hoodie so he follows her. The door shuts.

Ben Wyatt is kissing her. His mouth is soft and needy, hungry and gentle. She hangs onto him, slides her hands from his sweatshirt to his neck, digging her fingers into his hair and relishing the growl that slips out of his mouth and engulfs her body in flames.

As she lets him undress her, she desperately tries to keep contact with him. A hand quickly pulling from a shirt sleeve and back to his chest, frustrated sighs as a shirt needs to be lifted and their lips have to part for seconds. He smiles, teasing her with a pinch on her side before he lets her kiss him again. She’s dizzy in him, his hands on her bare skin, roaming every surface of exposed skin, fingers tracing along her underwear and the edges of her bra. She doesn’t even know what underwear she’s wearing but she’s not going to stop kissing him to find out.

Ben kisses like he crunches numbers, thorough and never ending. She could stand in this hotel room and kiss him, feel his nose nudge her in one way so he can find a new place in her mouth to explore, or press his thumb down on her chin to move her jaw so he can gain access to her bottom lip so he can bite and suck it before delving in again. His hands are big and everywhere on her torso, sometimes dragging down her back so he can grip her ass, releasing groans from his throat again.

Leslie starts working to get his hoodie off and undoing his jeans, but this causes him to travel down her jaw and along her neck, and she’s swaying and shaking as she works. Ben’s teeth rake against her skin over her pulse point.

“Doing okay?” he asks, his voice teasing and deep.

“Never better.”

He laughs and her knees go weak, leaning into him. He holds her hips with strong hands and she’s steady to push her hands up his stomach, along his chest, the t-shirt riding up along her arms until he lifts his and she pulls the shirt over his head.

They both take this moment to breathe. 

His lips are swollen and red, calling to her like a beacon, but the air feels good filling her lungs and sending oxygen to her brain again. His chest is dusted with hair and it goes down a dark line along his stomach. He’s flat and pale, hip bones holding up his unclasped jeans. He’s pale and thin like she imagined, but she couldn’t be prepared for the shape of his shoulders and the definitions of veins and bones along his torso. Tight and powerful.

“Are you okay?” Ben asks, his breathing slowing.

“My temperature is fine, no symptoms.”

Ben looks down at her, eyebrows furrowing.

“Leslie.”

“Oh, right,” Leslie says. She nods. “Yes. Very okay.”

After weeks of not having any human contact, to be flooded with nothing but contact from Ben, she almost feels overstimulated. She can hear each breath she takes, feel it take up the space in her lungs and rush back up her throat. She’s aware of every tight muscle along Ben’s body, the smell of soap and man that wafts off his skin, and she can still taste the cinnamon from his tongue. 

Her memories flood, too. Of the countless times he’s told her no, answered her calls or text messages at midnight, how he looks when he walks into her office to ask her something, how he stands in a room, how he finds his way to her when they’re at work, when they’re not at work, how he teases her about sugar and the lack of self control. She remembers him standing next to her at April and Andy’s wedding and how he told her he was staying and how it flipped everything.

She licks her lips and reaches forward and pushes her fingers through the belt loops of his jeans and pulls them down. He studies her as he steps out of his shoes and pulls off his socks and jeans. It should be awkward, but his gaze is boring into her as he does it, tracing her face, falling to her chest, and traveling down until he’s just standing in front of her in his boxer briefs. They’re a deep red and contrast beautifully against his skin. 

“Bed,” he says, and the tone and weight of the word -- the command -- knocks the wind right out of her.

Leslie almost challenges him like a bad habit, but she wants to move to the bed, she wants him, so she does as she’s told and moves to the bed, crawling up the mattress. 

Ben follows her and crawls up her body, dipping low and kissing spots along her thighs, her stomach, her chest, her neck. He stops at her jaw and nudges her chin up with his nose before working on a spot on the side of her neck, right where it meets the dip toward her collar bone. He licks, sucks, and kisses the flesh and she knows she’s starting to bruise, but she doesn’t care. Her toes curl and her hands are in his hair and she’s panting, and moaning and each sound makes him suck harder.

She parts her thighs and he nestles his hips between them and she can feel his hard dick against her and she rolls her hips up and he groans, his mouth falling from her skin. He pinches her side again and bites the spot he’s been working on before lifting his head, kissing her lips.

The kiss is brief and he’s quickly trailing kisses down her chest. He lingers over the exposed skin of her breasts and snaps a bra strap as he kisses down her stomach.

“Off,” he says, “please.”

When his lips are on her thighs, she sits up, and quickly unclasps her bra and tosses it aside. He doesn’t look up as he lightly taps her hip and she raises her ass off the mattress so he can slide her underwear down.

He slowly stands and looks at her, all of her, and Leslie can’t breathe.

She’s nervous. It’s late morning and the sunlight is streaming into the room through the sheer curtains, painting her in broad daylight. 

However, if there’s any reason to think Ben is displeased by what he sees, she can’t find it. He’s focused on her, his eyes moving along her body, warming her from the inside out. Ben’s fingers tap her foot and then move over her ankles, wrapping around them and pulling so she slides down the mattress. She yelps, covering her face as she giggles. She catches Ben smiling down at her through her fingers. 

His hands slide up her calves, past her knees, and he splays his fingers open along her thighs as he pushes them apart.

He takes in a sharp breath. Leslie’s heart is beating hard and wild in her chest. His eyes are dark, as he takes her in. She’s on fire, every nerve ending honed into the way he looks at her, the muscles in his jaw, the way she can see his tongue push against his cheek, his bottom lip. She’s aching watching him, her knees shaking as they lay open, her fingers slowly tightening around the sheets. Seconds, minutes tick by and he’s just looking at her and she’s dizzy with want.

“Ben.”

His eyes, still dark as the night sky, flick up to her. He blinks as if he’s been dreaming, and his eyes soften a little.

“Please,” she begs, “get a move on.”

Ben smiles and places his hands on her knees, smoothing them up her thighs and back down, helping her legs drop off the foot of the bed. He kneels between her legs and kisses each thigh just once.

“As you wish.”

Leslie giggles, sighing as she falls back on the pillow. She wants to kick him for using the knowledge of their many 20 questions rounds the last few days against her, but the instinct flies out the window as soon as his mouth is against her.

Ben groans, his arms immediately wrapping around her thighs, gripping and pulling her closer. Leslie moans, loud, as he gets closer, his tongue moving faster, hungry and deep. Her hips buck and Ben holds her tight enough to keep them connected, but she’s still free to let her back arch, for her fingers to card and pull at his hair, for her hips to grind against his face.

She can feel each swipe of his tongue against her, his lips soft and drenched as they roll along, kissing and sucking between laps. His name is rolling out of her mouth with expletives and one word encouragements like _yes, there, more, more, more_.

When he lifts his head, she shakes as her body flattens against the bed, a whine escaping her lips, a sound almost feral and definitely embarrassing. Numb fingers cover her face and she tries to regain her breathing, her entire body throbbing with the loss of his mouth. Ben asks if she’s okay, his voice and rough between deep breaths. She nods and looks down at him, his beard wet and lips plump and she thinks about pushing herself off the mattress and tackling him, but he slides his hand up her inner thigh and he pushes two fingers into her so easily and any plan she had immediately is forgotten, her mind now lost in the sensation of him filling her.

The sound of Ben swearing echoes in her ears as she rides his fingers, lost and buzzing with each stroke. His mouth covers her clit and he circles, sucks, and licks in a pattern that must have been built just for her. Whether Ben is a sex God or it really has been too long since she’s been touched at all, she’s not sure, and she doesn’t fucking care.

Ben’s fingers twist and curl as he moves, his tongue quick, and Leslie is certain she’s floating. Her skin tingles and her muscles ache, a wash of heat building between her legs and sending out waves of pleasure and heat, across her body. Her head is swimming in want, in need, while her body can hardly keep up with him. His name is falling out of her mouth and each time she says it, he groans against her, sending electricity up her spine. 

“Oh my God,” Leslie says, her hips lifting to meet this new angle Ben has found.

It’s perfect, and she tells him so, she tells him how good he feels, how he needs to just keep going. He listens, his fingers only speeding up just enough to make her build, flames licking at her skin and seeping into her muscles, along her veins until she is sure she is going to explode. 

Ben moans against her and mumbles something, his tongue catching a new spot and she moans, high pitched and wanting and he stays the course. His free hand moves over to her ass and grips, helping her hips stay up.

Leslie’s climbs, her hands in his hair, her body chasing every sensation until it’s all too much and she’s tipping over the edge, breaking against his mouth. 

He slows, lapping and riding out her orgasm and she is a string of sighs and moans until she can’t take anymore, gently pushing his head away. His teeth catch against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs before he’s kissing her there, trailing kisses along both legs, grabbing the sheets to wipe his face on his way to peppering more kisses along her stomach, her chest, her throat. 

He finally reaches her mouth and he kisses her quickly before whispering, “You’re so sweet,” and nuzzling into her neck. This sends shivers through her and she runs her hands up his back and into his hair.

“So sweet,” he mumbles again against her skin, finding that spot he bruised earlier. 

Leslie can hardly move, but she swallows, her mouth dry.

“Oh yeah?”

Ben lifts his head and rolls off of her, propping his head up on his hand. It’s surreal to see him here, to still feel the shaky aftermath of what he’s done to her. It wasn’t that long ago that it felt like he was just going to live on the other side of a wall and inside her phone forever.

His hand flattens against her stomach, big and overwhelming along her skin.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning over to kiss her again. It’s a quick kiss, followed by another small one against her cheek and Leslie giggles. “It’s weird to see you. To touch you.” His hand moves along her stomach, grazing her breasts. She gasps. “Good, too, I mean. I… Lord, I like you so much, Leslie Knope.”

Those words jolt life into her and she springs up, hooking her fingers into the waistband of his underwear and she pulls down, throwing them across the room. He’s laughing and adjusting to accommodate her straddling his hips. He hisses at the contact, grabbing her waist.

“I should’ve told you I liked you sooner,” Ben says as she leans down to kiss him.

“Yeah,” she says, kissing him as he laughs, their teeth bumping. “Maybe next time don’t wait for us to be quarantined with a wall between us.”

“Noted.”


End file.
